Monthly Archives: March 2008

Call me by my Pirate Name

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… “Old Popeye.” Owen gets to be Young Popeye, of course; Cormac is Sweetpea, and Dad is Bluto.

Places I have traveled today, the means by which I got there, and what I was wearing at the time:

  • North Pole, by ship, with a pirate hat
  • Caribbean white sandy beaches, by ship, with a pirate scarf and scabbard
  • North Pole, by express train (I believe the line is Polar), no accessories
  • a restaurant serving “Number Ones,” by ship, no accessories, but with a lot of gold treasure

And now I have a traveler’s complaint, so I’ll leave you to your weekend.

I didn’t forget your list

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Via Mamaneena, the girl who gave me rides to school in 10th grade, I stumbled upon I Invented Motherhood, who linked to Three Beautiful Things: “Every day I want to record three things that have given me pleasure.” Nice idea.

  1. Seeing Owen’s grinning face peering out of the front window of our house as I retrieved his pirate spyglass (a paper towel tube) from the back seat of my car. You’d think I’d fetched him actual buried treasure, such was his glee.
  2. Watching Cormac, 9 months, sitting on his rump a few paces away from his big brother, trying to color in a coloring book and glancing up at Owen now and then for pointers on technique.
  3. Peanut butter eggs. At this rate there will be nothing left for the Easter Bunny to get credit for.

Crockpot challenge: Faux Toledo

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Tonight: Chicken Paprikash, like a good Toledo girl should. Sadly, this was not my best work. In fact, it was barely edible. Sometimes the crockpot turns meat dry and sawdusty, and I don’t know why, and that’s what happened this time.

So. No leftovers! Which is sad, because I was really hoping for a taste of Tony Packo’s in my own kitchen.

But on the plus side, I made my own pretzels yesterday. Heavens to Betsy Friedan, these were good.

Homemade pretzel

So nobody around here’s starving, that’s what I’m saying.

Nablopomo: Two weeks in

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I have run out of steam with the lists, you guys. Seriously. Come on. They are twice as boring to write as they are to read. And usually they are only one item long.

Things I baked today

  1. Pretzels

Places I went today

  1. Mars (the grocery store, not the planet, although I hear it needs moms)

Times I nuzzled Cormac under his chin today

  1. Twenty seven

See?

On a totally unrelated, random, and 6-days-late note, my blog, Supafine, which you are reading right now, is five years old. I have been writing about my incredibly, award-winningly boring life for five years. (It’s true, I have an award for being the most addictive yet boringest blog in town. I framed it and hung it over my eMac.)

I know I am no longer addictive, but I sure clung like mold to the boring. Thank you to each and every person who has ever stopped by to read what I have to say, and especially thank you to you people who leave a comment or send an e-mail or forge a more personal relationship with me, even though you are left sockless by the end of the exchange because your socks, they were done bored right off. I love you, but not in that way.

He’s super

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he's a super

Owen, aged 3.199 years.

Yesterday Owen asked me to make him a cape, so that he could be a Super. I fainted straightaway, because he never cares for anything I make for him. He certainly has never made any special requests. I let him choose the fabric (a goldenrod-colored polar fleece) and stitched on two golden ribbons to tie it. Then he showed me his running powers by zooming around the room, teeny legs pumping. He flung himself on the floor, arms outstretched, to demonstrate his flying form. Then he rescued me from the bad guys, gave me a huge smack on the lips and pronounced me his first baby.

I am a big ol’ puddle of goo. I love this kid so much.